


Charting Constellations Unseen

by glimmerglanger



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Healing, Established Relationship, F/M, Feelings Realization, Jealousy, M/M, Moving to a Threesome, Multi, Only Briefly - Freeform, Personal Growth, Plot With Porn, Relationship Negotiation, The Zillo Beast Ate Palpatine AU, attempted wooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23982256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glimmerglanger/pseuds/glimmerglanger
Summary: So, perhaps Padmé really wanted to be crawling into Obi-Wan’s bunk in the midnight hours. Perhaps she wanted to run her hands up his body, over pale skin and freckles, the planes of muscle that might shift beneath her touch. Perhaps she really wanted to kiss his mouth, sink fingers into his hair, pant against his skin.Anakin wouldn’t have been able to blame her, really. He’d entertained so many of the same thoughts.OR, the one where Anakin and Padmé realize some things about one another and have to decide what to do about the realization.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padmé Amidala/Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 67
Kudos: 824





	Charting Constellations Unseen

**Author's Note:**

> So, I had this saved as the Same Hat AU for a long time. It was originally inspired by that picture of two Spider-Mans pointing at each other. Despite that, it really didn't turn out as funny as I thought at first. Instead, it's mostly about healing and emotional growth? How'd THAT happen? There's also smut, though.

Actually working with Padmé in the field always left Anakin on edge, more on edge even than usual. Going on a mission that involved Padmé, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka represented something like one of his worst nightmares. It left him in situations where, if something went wrong, he might lose all of them at once.

It was, nevertheless, a situation that had been occuring more and more often since the Zillo Beast had… well. Eaten Chancellor Palpatine.The war felt like it had changed, with his death almost a year ago. Anakin wasn’t sure  _ how  _ or even  _ why _ , but it had.

Still, the mission - diplomatic contact with a race that existed out-of-phase with the rest of the galaxy the majority of the time - actually went correctly, for once. He spent a lot of time watching Padmé and Obi-Wan sit and speak with gently billowing clouds of light that were, apparently, other sentient lifeforms.

When they retired to their ship in the evenings - the energy beings merged into one cloud when they slumbered, the mass of it projecting sensations Anakin didn’t have names for out into the Force - he watched Padmé and Obi-Wan bend close together over ignored meals, discussing strategies for the next day.

“It’s like they’re speaking another language,” Ahsoka said, the second evening, bemused, standing beside Anakin.

She wasn’t wrong. Anakin had always known that Padmé and Obi-Wan were good at such things, at solving problems by convincing everyone around them that they were right, but to watch the two of them working on such an issue together made it clear that he  _ wasn’t _ . Not even a little bit. He listened to Padmé laugh at something that hadn’t even sounded like a joke - she  _ giggled  _ \- and said, “It sure is. You want to go spar?”

He, abruptly, didn’t want to watch Obi-Wan moving plates out of the way so he could lean a little further across the table, like he needed to be closer to Padmé to explain… something.

He didn’t want to see the flush on Padmé’s cheeks, or feel the warm pink tinge to her emotions in the Force.

When she slipped into his quarters that evening, away from her far finer rooms, he rolled towards her and held her tightly, though he dared do no more than that, not with Ahsoka and Obi-Wan both on the ship.

“Are you having fun?” he asked, his fingers combing back through the heavy fall of her hair, something hurt curling inside his chest.

“I wouldn’t call it fun,” she said, snuggling her head under his chin, her arm curling around his back, and gave a soft little sigh as she faded off to sleep.

Anakin swallowed, hard, and wondered if he should be grateful that she’d come to his bunk, when she had other options that obviously interested her just as much.

Perhaps more.

#

It wasn’t that Anakin didn’t understand, he considered, the next day, watching Padmé press her arm to Obi-Wan’s as the two of them conversed with glowing clouds of light. He understood perfectly well why she might feel… interested.

After all, he couldn’t even clearly recall exactly when  _ he’d  _ first looked at Obi-Wan and been struck by want, it had happened so long ago. 

So, perhaps Padmé really wanted to be crawling into Obi-Wan’s bunk in the midnight hours. Perhaps she wanted to run her hands up  _ his  _ body, over pale skin and freckles, the planes of muscle that might shift beneath her touch. Perhaps she really wanted to kiss his mouth, sink fingers into his hair, pant against his skin.

Anakin wouldn’t have been able to blame her, really. He’d entertained so many of the same thoughts. Anakin swallowed, looking away from them before his thoughts wandered any further down that path. He’d never - never actually act on any of those thoughts, those wants. But he’d have to be blind and dead not to look at Obi-Wan and  _ want _ .

So, while it ate at him, the knowledge that Padmé was there, wanting the same things… He understood, in a way.

#

Anakin tried to convince himself he was wrong, that Padmé didn’t want Obi-Wan, but it was difficult when the Force whispered the truth to him all the time. They had - perhaps - two weeks before the energy beings slipped out of phase again. In that time, he grew used to watching the way Obi-Wan and Padmé moved around one another.

Obi-Wan flirted; Anakin had learned long ago not to take it personally. He did it reflexively, like breathing. But Padmé  _ flirted back _ . She teased. She reached out and touched Obi-Wan’s arm for no reason. She tilted her chin just so, the way she did before Anakin kissed her, sometimes.

Anakin watched them, because he’d expected that this mission was going to go wrong - they all went wrong - but he hadn’t expected  _ this  _ to be the way everything fell apart. He spent the time during discussions going over past interactions between the two, wondering how  _ long… _

It could have been for years, he supposed. They’d always been warm with one another, ever since their experiences on Naboo. He swallowed down bile, angry words constantly on the tip of his tongue and held back.

After all, Padmé always came to his bunk, in the night. 

He wondered how much longer that would last, his thoughts preoccupied with the two of them, tangled together in a bed too small for such activity, Obi-Wan’s hands on her hips, muscles shifting in her thighs as she rose and fell, her head thrown back in ecstasy, and--

#

The mission ended, finally. Anakin felt nothing but relief, watching the planet fall behind them, swallowed by the black of space until it was nothing but a blip on their scanners. Some time after that, it disappeared entirely as it shifted out of phase.

“Remind me again why we wasted two weeks talking to some people who won’t even reappear for twenty-nine years,” Anakin asked, hands clenched too tightly around the controls, to keep from doing anything else.

Obi-Wan was seated beside him, in perfect order, turning to flash Anakin a smile. “So that we’ll know more next time they show up,” he said. “Besides, it was nice not getting shot at for a bit.”

Anakin supposed that much was true. He said, staring forward, “You and Senator Amidala seemed to have a good time.”

“She’s very good at her work,” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin wondered if he thought that was the  _ only  _ thing she was very good at. He wondered if Obi-Wan was sitting right across from him, thinking about other areas where Padmé might be good with her mouth--

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked, interrupting the stream of his thoughts, reaching out to put a hand on Anakin’s arm. And even after everything, Anakin couldn’t help but feeling comforted. Obi-Wan had always had that effect on him. “Everything alright?”

“Yes.” Nothing was alright. Anakin pushed down all the emotions inside his chest. “Just thinking about the best route to take to get back.”

#

They took Padmé back to her apartment, when they arrived, finally, back on Coruscant. She invited them in, all of them, offering refreshments. Something about having all of them together, in the home Anakin couldn’t ever claim as his, made him ache under his ribs. So did watching Padmé sit sideways on the couch, turned towards Obi-Wan as he discussed some mission or the other, something Anakin had done.

“Saved my life, again,” he finished, looking over at Anakin with a smile that lifted some portion of Anakin’s dark mood, before he glanced over at Ahsoka. “Of course, we’d all have been dead if not for Ahsoka’s timely intervention.”

“Someone has to look after you two,” Ahsoka said, looking far more preoccupied with the spread of delicacies C-3PO had brought out. Padmé laughed at both of them, her eyes sparkling and her smile beautiful and--

She glanced up, smile lighting up Anakin’s world, and said, “Come, join us, Anakin.” Anakin watched Obi-Wan’s expression shift, minutely, out of the corner of his eyes. Padmé corrected, without wavering, “General Skywalker, I mean.”

“We hardly need stand on ceremony here,” Obi-Wan said, still watching Anakin’s expression, his eyes curious and sharp, though his tone was appropriately light. “We’ve known one another for so long, haven’t we?” But he stood, anyway, tugging his robes straight. “Still, we should be going. The Council will expect a report.”

Ahsoka stood as well, with a reluctant look at the canapes she was leaving behind. Anakin said, “I’ll follow shortly, there was something I needed to discuss with the Senator.”

Obi-Wan’s expression shifted, again, but only for a moment before he nodded. “Of course,” he said, “we’ll see you later.” They made their goodbyes quickly, not quickly enough for Anakin, and he watched the pair of them walk down to the ship, his mind full of buzzing noise. 

Anakin waited until he saw Obi-Wan’s ship slip into the heavy Coruscanti traffic, tension down his spine. He felt… furious. Hurt and angry, all at once, his hands balled to fists inside his robes. Padmé turned to say something to C-3PO, acting like nothing had happened, and he asked, with what control he had remaining, “What was all that about, then?”

“All what about?” she asked, not even glancing at him, like he couldn’t see the blush on her cheeks, like he couldn’t  _ feel  _ her heartbeat, still elevated from Obi-Wan’s goodbye smile. He turned his head to the side, jaw clenching.

“Whatever that was with Obi-Wan through the mission. Tonight. I get the feeling you’d have rather he stayed behind.” And it  _ stung _ , remembering the way she’d glanced up at Obi-Wan and smiled, the softness in her eyes when she touched his arm.

“Anakin,” she said, sharply, responding to his tone. “What a ridiculous thing to say, I--”

“Don’t try to lie to me, Padmé,” he interrupted. The fact that she’d attempt it made the hot anger in his chest flame brighter. “I can sense what you’re feeling. I  _ know  _ what it feels like when you want someone.” He turned to scowl at her. “You should call him back, invite him to bed, or maybe you already have--”

“What are you even saying?” she snapped, taking a step towards him, her dark eyes blazing, her mouth twisting into a grimace. 

He glared back, anger writhing inside him. He snarled, “I’m saying that it’s fairly obvious to everyone that you’d like him to push up your skirts and--”

The sound her hand made against his cheek rang out sharp in her apartments. The pain was barely an afterthought to the fresh anger that she’d  _ hit him  _ for telling the truth. He caught her wrist and she snapped, up into his face, with no trace of fear in her expression, “You’re one to talk, Anakin Skywalker.”

“Me?” Anakin scoffed. “I’m not the one--”

“You think I don’t know you’re in love with him?” she said, her voice quiet and sharp as razors, and he froze, his heart stuttering in his chest. Her eyes were shining, wet, when she continued, “You think I haven’t seen the holos? You think I’m blind to the way you look at him?”

Anakin flinched, the sudden accusations taking him by surprise, far more than the slap had. And he had -- he and Obi-Wan weren’t -- He’d never-- He managed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She laughed, sharp, mocking. “Oh, no? You don’t recall how closely you stand to him? Or the way you’ve blended your battalions, so you’re always with him? Or the way you run off like a shot, everytime it looks like he might be in the smallest amount of danger?”

Anakin scowled at her. “That’s not-- Those are--you can’t accuse me because I worry about his safety. I’ve never - never touched him that - that way.” And she couldn’t know if he’d thought about it, sometimes. If he’d entertained the idea for too long, really. Anyway, that didn’t  _ matter _ . “I’d never break our--”

She snorted a laugh, expression twisted to something ugly and angry, “Oh, maybe you haven’t - haven’t  _ kriffed  _ him--” the sound of the profanity in her mouth was so startling that Anakin almost jerked back from her. She  _ never  _ swore. And hearing her say it made him wonder if, somehow, she  _ had _ seen his thoughts, knew the way he’d imagined, fleetingly, sliding into Obi-Wan’s quarters, into his bunk, into-- “--but you swore not to love anyone else but me and you  _ lied _ . You’re with him all the time, Anakin. Even when he’s not here, you’re thinking about him.”

Anakin shook his head, not sure what part he was denying. Perhaps all of it. “That’s not--”

“I know what it looks like when  _ you  _ want someone, too, Anakin,” she continued, implacable. “Maybe you haven’t broken our vows physically, but you’ve hardly been faithful emotionally, have you?”

“You don’t understand,” he said, heart jack-hammering. “You’re - we share a bond, from when he trained me, that’s all, it’s not--”

“You and Ahsoka share a bond from training,” Padmé said, razor sharp, and he should have known better than to argue with her. She always won, always knew just how to cut deep, to get to the heart of him, “she doesn’t look at you like she wants to push you against the nearest wall. Stop trying to  _ lie about it _ , Anakin. I know exactly how you feel about him. I’ve known since Geonosis.”

The words - the entire argument - sat between them, taking up all the air in the apartment. Anakin stared at her, watching her breathe hard, her eyes flashing, anger in the twist of her mouth, and knew he wore the same expression. 

He couldn’t think of what else to say. How to move forward. C-3PO broke their stand-off, eventually, bumbling into the room to drop off some tea before exiting again. Padmé tugged her wrist free of his grip and went over to the tray, pouring herself a cup and standing with her back to him.

He said, finally, when he could unclench his jaw, “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

She shrugged, the fall of her hair tumbling over one shoulder as she did. “You’ve been fighting a war, Anakin. I wanted you to make it through. If - if loving him gave you something to live for, something to fight harder for, I…” she gestured out to the side, weakly, and then snorted. “Besides, I could hardly begrudge you for doing the same thing I was doing.”

Anakin swallowed, the admission  _ hurt _ . “You do love him, then?” he asked, tasting bile in the back of his throat.

“No more than you do,” she said, her shoulders a stiff line.

The world felt like it was falling apart, all around him. He wished he’d never said anything, wished he’d just… ignored it. But he hadn’t. He looked to the side, trying to blink away the sting of tears, and said, “But I still love you.” He’d never stopped, and knowing--

“Oh, Ani,” she said, and there was something besides anger in her voice. He braced when she turned, setting down her cup, crossing the room to him. She said, placing a hand, carefully, on his arm. “I love you, too, you must know that.”

He hadn’t, really. Not in that moment. He blinked again, swallowing hard, and she touched his jaw. “Did you think you could love me and love him, but I couldn’t manage to do the same thing?” she asked, and her tone was still sharp, but there was fondness in it, too.

“I don’t know,” he said, leaning into the comfort of her touch, wanting the normalcy and security of curling an arm around her. She put her head on his shoulder and the argument drifted away, burning out hot and fast, the way their disagreements tended to do. “What are we going to do now?”

She wrapped her arms around him, hands flattened on his back as he pressed his face against her hair, curls soft against his skin. “I don’t know,” she said. “I suppose it may depend upon how he feels about  _ us _ .” And then she slid her fingers up the back of his neck, into his hair, tugging him downward. “It’s nothing we have to figure out tonight, Anakin.”

“I love you,” he said, because it felt important that he say it again, that she know that his affections for her had not changed, except to grow deeper.

She smiled against his mouth. “I know, Anakin.” She kissed him, once, twice. “I love you, too.”

#

Figuring out how to handle their feelings for Obi-Wan wasn’t nearly so simple as figuring out their feelings for one another had been, a few years ago. They’d fallen in love so quickly, before the war. It had felt only natural to promise each other the rest of their lives, despite all the reasons it was a bad idea.

Anakin doubted, somehow, that Obi-Wan would be willing to light out for Naboo for another ceremony.

“We don’t  _ have  _ to do anything,” Padmé said the following morning. He would probably be questioned for not appearing in the Temple the previous night, but he’d gotten very good at making excuses for his absences. She was wearing his robe and nothing else, which was proving a distraction. “About our feelings.”

Anakin nodded, but the lie sat poorly with him. He’d never been good at giving up things he wanted, even he could acknowledge that. The drive had gotten him accepted as a Jedi, gotten him Knighted, gotten him a marriage to Padmé . He’d never learned how to curb it. But...

“I’m not even sure he feels close to the same way,” he said, because the thought had been eating away at him for far longer than a single evening. He’d held fierce wants for Obi-Wan in his chest for years, without even a hint that they were returned. Even before he’d married Padmé , he’d wanted…. “He flirts with everyone.”

“Well,” Padmé said, sighing, leaning her head against Anakin’s shoulder, “we could try to find out?”

“Do you want to find out?” Anakin shivered when she moved again, throwing a leg across his lap, settling down and close, the robe billowing open. “It might be… risky.”

“I don’t mind a few risks,” she said, arms curling around his neck, mouth finding his. “And I’ve always believed in at least  _ trying _ to get what I want. Do  _ you  _ want to find out?” She shifted against him, and he gripped her hips, even as she slid a hand down, past the blanket across his hips. “Do you want to know if he’d join us, like this?”

And  _ Force _ , but didn’t that just flood thoughts into Anakin’s head, ones he’d spent so much time trying to suppress, of warm, strong hands on his skin, of copper hair tangled around his fingers, of blue eyes gone stunned with pleasure. “Yes,” he panted, as she moved over him, sinking down onto him, hot and wet and--

“Me, too,” she panted, and he groaned, wrapping an arm around her and shifting, bearing her down to the mattress.

#

Anakin had time to think, on his way back to the Temple. He’d never handled that well, but there was no way around it. Without Padmé there beside him, her surety an immovable beacon, his thoughts twisted around one another.

He knew he loved Obi-Wan and knew now that she did, too. He’d entertained thoughts, far more than once, about  _ loving  _ Obi-Wan, pulling him close on the  _ Resolute _ , or in a tent out on some hellish world, peeling away his armor and his robes to find the skin beneath.

Considering  _ Padmé  _ doing the same hadn’t been a pastime he indulged in. He found his thoughts drifting in that direction as he moved through the Coruscanti traffic. He half-expected to feel anger or disgust, as he had on the last mission, as he tried to picture them curled around one another-- 

And it wasn’t disgust that stirred in his gut, when he imaged Obi-Wan’s fingers in Padmé’s long hair, her hands gripping his shoulders. Anakin knew exactly what their bodies looked like, his mind could easily imagine what they’d look like tangled together, and the images were  _ beautiful _ , especially when he pictured them turning towards him, expressions warm and welcoming.

He arrived back at the Temple with a serious problem that his robes weren’t quite concealing, and thumped his head back against the seat, concentrating to push it away. The… issue made an effort at return when he exited the ship and found Obi-Wan leaning against the doorway to the hangar, a cup of caff in his hand and an eyebrow arched.

“I was beginning to worry you’d gotten lost,” Obi-Wan said, drily, and, oh, but Anakin wanted.

He cleared his throat, “Sorry,” he said, and his voice was still a rasp, lower than it should have been. “I had to take care of a few things.”

#

Determining Obi-Wan’s feelings about  _ anything _ was always a challenge. He had a distressing tendency to evade questions, to smile and move the conversation onward without saying what he really thought regarding any given subject. 

Anakin knew he had experienced romantic feelings before. Hell, he’d made no effort to disguise the fact that he sometimes engaged in brief dalliances. And he’d had a deeper connection with the Duchess Satine. Their feelings had obviously started when they were very young, but they’d endured, to one degree or another. Anakin sensed those emotions, whenever the two of them were around one another. 

He thought briefly about asking  _ her _ how she’d managed to draw Obi-Wan into something beyond idle flirting, but that… would probably be less than appropriate. And he got the feeling she wouldn’t mind rekindling things, anyway, if ever the war ended and they both regained some measure of freedom.

Still, the knowledge that Obi-Wan could and did feel romantic desires was an encouragement. It meant that Anakin and Padmé just had to get him to feel those desires for  _ them _ .

Anakin hadn’t courted Padmé, by any stretch of the imagination. Their relationship hadn’t been like that - they’d just… connected, on some deep level. There had been barriers between them, but none that Anakin had minded burning to the ground, and then they had been together.

There had been barely anytime in between. 

Obviously, Obi-Wan required a different approach.

#

“I don’t know how to flirt,” Anakin told Padmé, a few days later. They were about to be sent off-planet again, out towards the Rim to assess a potential Separatist take-over of a neutral world. It was his last chance to snag a moment with her, and they’d taken full advantage of it, she was still sprawled across the sheets, breathing hard and deliciously flushed.

She laughed, a little, and said, “Ani.”

“I don’t,” he threw his arm over his eyes. “I never… I mean…” He waved his other hand through the air, trying to encapsulate all the words he didn’t know how to say. He’d tried flirting with her, briefly. They could both agree he hadn’t done a very good job, and then he’d never tried with anyone else.

“No,” she said, and he listened to her sit up, “I suppose you don’t.” She ran her fingers over the top of his arm.

“So how am I supposed to…?”

She laughed again, and he was happy, down deep, that she was in such a good mood. He’d be able to take these memories with him, stored up and preserved, a beacon to come back to. She shifted around, sprawling across his chest, “I could give you some pointers.”

He lifted his arm enough to look at her. “What?” she said, “I  _ can  _ flirt.”

The words sent a little tinge of sharp jealousy through him and he breathed it out. He trusted her. He had to. “Alright,” he said, pushing up onto his elbows. “Give me a lesson, fast.”

Padmé’s lesson fled his head as soon as he next saw Obi-Wan, standing on the bridge of the  _ Negotiator  _ and frowning over battle plans. Anakin knew his face better than anyone else’s in the entire galaxy, but seeing him still sped up Anakin’s pulse, still stirred something in his chest and spine, enough so that Obi-Wan looked up and over at him, eyebrow raised. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“No,” Anakin said, flashing him a smile. Padmé had said something about smiling, hadn’t she? And initiating physical contact? He moved closer, blanked on  _ where  _ exactly he should be initiating contact, and, falling back on the instincts that had him jumping into the most dangerous situation he could find on any given battlefield, placed a hand on Obi-Wan’s back. He felt Obi-Wan startle as he asked, “What are you working on?” 

“Trying to decide how best to resolve this situation,” Obi-Wan said, tilting his chin up to look at Anakin. They didn’t generally stand  _ quite  _ so closely together, though it was a near thing. 

“I’ll help,” Anakin said, and left his hand where it was.

Obi-Wan’s brows furrowed. He opened his mouth, shut it again, and shook his head. “Alright,” he said, turning to gesture at the terrain maps in front of him and falling into talk of strategic passes, the local populace, and traps.

#

Obi-Wan looked at him as though he’d grown a second head when Anakin laughed at a dry little joke he made. Padmé had  _ definitely  _ said something about laughing at jokes, and Anakin did usually  _ snort  _ at Obi-Wan’s sharp little pieces of humor. Laughter seemed to unnerve him, though, and he made excuses to leave the room soon after, casting Anakin a confused look as he went.

Anakin mentally removed “laugh at his jokes” from the suggestions he barely recalled, grimacing and pinching the bridge of his nose. When he opened his eyes, Rex was staring at him, with the same wide-eyed, mouth-half-open expression one might wear if coming upon some particularly strange looking pile of goo on the floor.

“What?” Anakin asked, shifting his shoulders, feeling itchy all at once down his back.

Rex shut his mouth, shaking his head. “Nothing, Sir,” he said, “nothing at all. Just… nothing.”

#

“Your skin looks nice,” Anakin said, after they finished sparring on the day before they were to reach their destination. Obi-Wan had shrugged off all but his thin under-tunic, leaving his arms bare, and Anakin had, possibly, been more distracted than he should have been by the revelation of skin kept hidden so much of the time.

And Padmé had definitely told him to compliment Obi-Wan on things that weren’t immediately obvious.

Obi-Wan froze in the midst of wiping his face off, a rag pressed up against his brow. Across the room, Ahsoka made a little choking sound. 

“What?” Obi-Wan asked, finally, pulling the rag down belatedly. His skin had stained red across his ears, but Anakin wasn’t entirely sure that color hadn’t been there already. They’d just got done chasing one another across the sparring room, after all.

Anakin wasn’t sure where he’d miscalculated on this latest attempt, but obviously he had. He shrugged, attempting to salvage the situation. “I just mean…” he gestured, vaguely, towards Obi-Wan, who was staring at him wide-eyed. “The skin on your arms, it looks--”

“Head’s up!” Ahsoka shouted, and threw a water bottle at Anakin’s head. He jerked to catch it before it could hit him in the temple, and she was there, grabbing his arm and saying, “you should stay hydrated, have you been drinking enough water?”

“I--” Anakin started, looking to the side in time to find Obi-Wan slipping out of the room, moving at some speed without appearing to run. “Ahsoka,” he said, half a complaint, half confusion. “I’m perfectly hydrated.”

“You’re perfectly something,” she said, shaking her head at him, and wouldn’t elaborate.

#

Anakin was fairly certain that his present strategy wasn’t working. If anything, Obi-Wan seemed put off, casting him worried looks more often than not. He definitely overhead Obi-Wan discussing his stress levels with Master Unduli once. It was nice to know that Obi-Wan worried about him, but…

He didn’t want Obi-Wan to think he was having some kind of stress-related breakdown. He refocused, trying to recall exactly what Padmé had seemed to like during their, admittedly, brief courtship.

She’d seemed to enjoy both physical displays of affection and demonstrations of the Force. Anakin had an opportunity to engage in both the next time they were nearly overrun by a droid army, led directly by Grievous.

Grievous had become increasingly erratic over the course of the war. He seemed mad completely - and half-falling apart - by the time he led a mission to storm the  _ Negotiator _ . Anakin happened to be aboard; he’d wanted to spend some time with Obi-Wan, though he hadn’t anticipated so much of that time would be spent destroying droids, rescuing troopers, and trying to prevent whatever acts of dire sabotage Grievous was attempting.

They eventually managed to corner the monstrosity on the bridge, which was in… very poor condition. Grievous had set off bombs throughout the ship and half the bridge had sheered away, the floor simply missing, with a drop down through several levels of the ship just waiting to swallow the unwary.

It left barely any room to move around, not that Obi-Wan seemed concerned, marching onto the bridge with a sharp look as he snapped, “I see you’ve been redecorating, General.”

Grievous laughed, looking up from the console he’d bent over. There were troopers scattered across the room, men cut down by this ugly beast. Anakin’s jaw tightened as he followed Obi-Wan into the room, saber in hand. “It will be a fitting grave for you, Kenobi.” His gaze shifted, over Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “And Skywalker, what a surprise.”

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked, edging to the left, skirting the pit opened in the floor, his senses open and flaring, and he hadn’t  _ lied  _ when he told Padmé that he still had a bond with Obi-Wan. It had never faded, the connection between them. Perhaps because they worked together so often. And it ever strengthened in a fight.

“Yes, of course,” Obi-Wan said, responding to things Anakin hadn’t said and hadn’t needed to say, and then they were moving, both of them, forward at once.

Anakin had never fought Grievous before. Never even seen him in the, well… Not the flesh. But Obi-Wan had, and so Anakin knew what to anticipate, knew his strategies and the little flaws in his defense. They exchanged blows, driving Grievous back, and it was going better than Anakin had expected, until Grievous laughed, and another explosion went off.

Anakin felt the hull threatening to rupture, the dark of space beyond threatening to pull out all the air and them with it. He had no time to swear, plans sleeting through his mind like lightning - plans that were maybe not even his - and he stretched a hand out, all of his concentration suddenly on  _ holding  _ the ship together.

Grievous stopped laughing. Anakin looked, out of the corner of his eyes, sweat rolling down his spine as he trembled with the effort, as Obi-Wan engaged the monstrosity on his own. He was holding his own, but only just, and Anakin had a flash of inspiration that he shoved at Obi-Wan without words.

He couldn’t use his saber at the moment, anyway, and shifted his grip, throwing it across the bridge even as Obi-Wan pivoted, reaching for it without looking. It slid into his free hand perfectly, he ignited it mid-swing, and took off one of Grievous’s arms, neatly.

The fight ended, there. Anakin felt it in the shift of the Force and saw it in Obi-Wan’s smile. Sometimes, Obi-Wan  _ grinned _ when he fought, and it was a wolfish expression, distracting, even obscured by the glow of so many lightsabers, by Grievous’ screams and curses.

There was sudden silence, when Obi-Wan managed to spin under Grievous’ guard, driving the blade of Anakin’s saber up into the beast’s jaw. He stepped back, as Grievous fell to the ground, breathing hard, a saber in each hand. When he turned, there was grease and blood all over his tunic, sweat on his skin, and Anakin wanted him so fiercely it  _ hurt _ .

He shivered when Obi-Wan approached, limping a bit, and stretched out a hand, assisting to keep the void at bay, reaching for his radio. “Commander,” Obi-Wan said, breath already under control, “we’re going to need to evacuate, as quickly as possible if you don’t mind. Oh. And General Grievous is dead.”

Anakin heard cheers over the comms, and wished they could celebrate properly. He thought seriously about pulling Obi-Wan closer and kissing him the way he deserved to be kissed. He might have given into the urge, had not Grievous stirred, snarled, “Not dead, yet, Kenobi,” and  _ exploded _ .

There was no time to think. The force of the explosion pushed them both over the edge. Anakin grabbed for Obi-Wan, as they tumbled past torn metal and open circuity, losing track of his hold on the hull. He could tell Obi-Wan was focusing on it, anyway, and one of them needed to focus on making sure the landing didn’t kill them.

They fell perhaps four levels, before the floor came up to meet them. Anakin tugged on the Force, shifting momentum, knowing it was going to hurt, anyway. He pulled Obi-Wan closer, shifting, and hit with shoulder and hip, rolling to distribute as much of the impact as possible, catching up against a wall, panting, hurting in so many places that it was hard to acknowledge them all at first.

It was dimly lit, wherever they were. Smoky. But they were both alive. Anakin blinked, shaking thought back into his head. He’d managed to keep hold of Obi-Wan through all of that, sprawled over him. Obi-Wan had a hand on his arm, his eyes wide, reflecting the flickering red light in the hall.

And Anakin  _ hurt _ , deeply - something had broken - and somewhere above them a hull breach was waiting to happen and-- And none of it  _ mattered _ , because they were alive and Obi-Wan still had that smile on his mouth, and Anakin  _ was  _ going to kiss it off his mouth because--

“General!” a voice snapped, interrupting. Obi-Wan looked to the side, Anakin followed suit a moment later, blinking blearily at Commander Cody. “This way, both of you. Get behind this bulkhead and let her vent, sir.”

Obi-Wan had to nudge Anakin in the shoulder before he moved. And then he had to grab one of Anakin’s arms and pull it over his shoulder, leveraging Anakin off of the floor. His left leg was really… Well. Not worth mentioning at the moment.

Cody took his other arm, and they dragged him out, and he wondered how he was going to explain any of that fight to Padmé.

He wondered, glancing at the side of Obi-Wan’s head, if they’d just won the war.

#

They were recalled to Coruscant after they killed Grievous. The  _ Negotiator  _ was in need of serious repairs and it took them extra time to reach the Core worlds, because the  _ Resolute  _ pulled her along in tow. 

The trip gave Anakin time to heal; he spent most of the time in a bacta tank. The medics drew him out as they approached Coruscant, cleaned him up and sent him on his way. He found Obi-Wan on the bridge; he’d taken control of both ships even before Anakin passed out.

Obi-Wan glanced over as he entered, looked him up and down, and smiled.  _ Everyone  _ around the ship had been smiling. There was a buzzing hum in the air. Grievous was dead. The Separatist armies had been in a state of collapse for months. 

Anakin breathed in a sense of victory and smiled back, walking over to stand beside Obi-Wan, who only startled a little when Anakin rested a hand on his back. He felt punch-drunk; they’d all but won the war and, somehow, in his head, winning the war had become linked to… well. Winning Obi-Wan, in some way.

“We’ll be arriving in orbit soon,” Obi-Wan said, glancing up at him, still grinning. “We’re requested before both the Council and the Senate, so prepare yourself accordingly.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” Anakin promised, and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

“You on your best behavior?” Obi-Wan asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not sure they could survive that.”

“You’ll just have to keep me in line, then.” Anakin rested a hand on the console, grinning back, and realized, with a little shiver down his spine, that he might be successfully flirting. And that Obi-Wan had  _ started it _ . Perhaps that was the trick to doing it properly.

“And how would I--”

“Masters,” Ahsoka said, and she sounded pained. Anakin glanced over to find her watching both of them, her nose wrinkled up a little. “We’ve received instructions for our orbit.”

#

They made their reports to the Senate and to the Council. Anakin could barely concentrate through either deliberation. The air on Coruscant also felt charged, full of the promise of better tomorrows. It left him feeling ready to break into a run, to charge back onto the  _ Resolute  _ and go find the Separatists, end this thing, once and for all.

But there were other ceremonies to attend, it seemed. They weren’t to be sent off again, and the invitation to Padmé’s apartments for a meal was even more tempting than winning the war right that second, though it was a near thing.

There were other Senators there, which was a drawback, but they had to leave eventually. Anakin found himself swamped by faces both familiar and unfamiliar, people happy to clasp his shoulders and shake his hands, all of them radiating a kind of relief and giddy joy.

None of them had bothered to do any of the fighting, but they were all going to reap the benefits. It was enough to make Anakin’s thoughts darken, but he pushed those shadows away. It was easier, when he heard Padmé laugh from across the room.

“I’m not making much progress,” Anakin had told her, in the scant moments they had together before the Senators started arriving. She’d pulled him into her bedroom on the pretense that 3PO needed a few repairs, turned, and sank her hands into his hair, pulling him down to kiss him.

He’d wished that she hadn’t been wearing such an ornate gown and that her headdress wasn’t so very delicate. It meant he could barely touch her in return, or risk ruining the entirety of the work that she’d put into getting ready. “Maybe you’ll be luckier,” he’d said.

“I’ll do my best,” she’d said, pressed against him just for a moment, before 3PO, in perfect condition, wailed and informed them that they were, in fact, neglecting their guests and preventing him from going about his duties.

Padmé’s  _ best  _ meant that she spent most of the evening by Obi-Wan’s side, occupying his attention. He seemed puzzled, but in good humor, flashing a bemused smile when she handed him a glass of faintly glowing liquor with a smile and some comment Anakin couldn’t hear over Chancellor Organa’s gratitude.

Anakin watched them, as much as he could, a slow heat building in his gut. He wished all these people would leave. He wished he could just have 3PO start escorting them out, leaving just the three of them behind, so he could peel them both out of their fine garb and spread them out, a better feast by far than the one they’d enjoyed earlier.

It wasn’t to be. Even after the Senators left, he had no opportunity to move things in the direction they  _ needed  _ to go, because when Padmé smiled up at Obi-Wan through her eyelashes and asked if he might not like to remain for a while, he looked startled and said only, “I think perhaps that wine you served was stronger than either of us expected.”

“Are you implying I’ve drank too much?” she asked, smiling still.

“Surely not,” Obi-Wan said, even as he drained the last dregs of liquid from his own glass. “But I’m afraid I have engagements early in the morning, and must get a few hours of sleep, if possible.”

“I’m sure that could be arranged,” Padmé said, reaching out to touch his arm, her eyes a warm, welcoming promise, “even if you remain.” Obi-Wan froze, just for a moment, glanced at Anakin, who raised an eyebrow at him, and then cleared his throat. 

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said, setting his glass down carefully. “That’s--I’m--Are you feeling quite well, Senator?”

“Never better,” she told him, glancing to the side and gesturing at 3PO. “Bring the General another drink, won’t you.”

Obi-Wan blinked. “Oh, that’s--”

“The least I could do,” Padmé interrupted, taking a step towards the couches and directing Obi-Wan along. “Relax, Obi-Wan. You are permitted to enjoy yourself every now and then, you know.”

Obi-Wan stared at the side of her head, looked across at Anakin, and was beginning to develop a hunted expression around his eyes. “I try to,” he said, when Anakin decided that perhaps some back-up was called for, and strolled over as Padmé sat down, sinking into the cushions on Obi-Wan’s other side. He stretched an arm across the back of the couch. “I’m simply not sure--oh, thank you.” Obi-Wan reached out and took the glass 3PO offered automatically, looked at it for a moment, and then swallowed the whole of it in one movement.

“And how do you try to enjoy yourself?” Padmé asked, her voice soft, and Anakin’s thoughts ran ahead of him, imagining Obi-Wan perhaps enjoying himself right there, on the couch, his robes pulled aside and his hand moving across skin. Obi-Wan made a little choking sound, barely audible, as he stood up. 

“Padmé,” he said, nodding to her, “Anakin. I think perhaps I ought to--”

“General Kenobi,” 3PO said, voice gone high and shrill with worry as he blustered into the room, “there’s an urgent message for you from the Senate.” Anakin swore, pushing to his feet as well. Nothing could ever be  _ easy _ . “It’s Count Dooku,” 3PO continued, “and you must come at once.”

#

It turned out Count Dooku could tell the war was ending, just as much as they could. Unfortunately, instead of doing the sane thing with that knowledge, he’d decided to - apparently - go for a final, all-or-nothing attack.

On Coruscant.

Obi-Wan had sworn, briefly, snapping orders to the ships in orbit even as Anakin tried to convince Padmé to go someplace safe and hunker down. He’d known she wouldn’t listen before he even started the request, but he’d needed to try.

By the time Obi-Wan had finished, turning back with a grim expression on his face, Padmé had produced a pair of blasters and torn off her dress, tugging on something that would allow for better movement hurriedly. “Senator Amidala insists on coming along,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan only rolled his eyes.

“We don’t have time to argue,” he said. “Come on.”

They’d thrown together something like a plan on their way through the atmosphere. The tang of battle in the air - the explosions lighting up the night sky - cleared any remaining fuzz of alcohol out of Anakin’s thoughts. “Be careful,” he said, wishing he could reach out and pull Padmé into a hug, worry for her burning hot and sharp through his veins.

Obi-Wan knew how to move on a battlefield. For all her courage, Padmé didn’t have anything like the same amount of experience they did. He--

“Don’t worry about me,” she said, flashing him a smile, and he reached out, squeezing her hand, at least, as they dove into the maelstrom over the capital. He gripped Obi-Wan’s shoulder in his other hand.

“Shall we?” Obi-Wan asked, glancing back at him, looking more at home in that moment, about to take on an army, than he had at any time during the dinner party.

Anakin swallowed all the feelings in his chest for both of them, and said, “Yes, we shall.”

#

They’d had a plan. Anakin knew that. But that was before they’d boarded the Count’s ship, and that was before all the droidekas, and that was before they’d been cut off from everyone else. Currently, they were all alone, somewhere on Dooku’s ship, and they were about to be overrun. They’d managed to barricade the doors shut temporarily, but there was no way they were going to hold for long. Not with what sounded to be an entire battalion of droids on the other side.

He should have known it would end up being this way; no plan survived contact with the enemy.

He glanced at Padmé, panting and leaning against the wall as she hurriedly reloaded her blaster, and Obi-Wan, who was tying a bandage around his arm, pulling the material tight with his teeth, and swallowed. Force, but he loved them both so much. And he was, suddenly, sure that he’d never get a chance to properly tell them.

He couldn’t fathom  _ why  _ he and Padmé had wasted so much time trying to  _ feel things out _ . Neither of them were any good at it, and now they were going to die, before he’d ever had a chance to hold them both, show them how he felt, and-- and he blurted, “We’re married.”

Obi-Wan looked up at him, bandage still caught in his teeth. Anakin felt Padmé go still at his other side. He should have - maybe - discussed this with her first, somehow, but there was no time. Obi-Wan jerked the bandage a little tighter, lowered his arm, and only then asked, “What?”

“We’re married,” Anakin repeated, gesturing to Padmé. “Padmé and I. We’ve been married since the outbreak of the war.”

Obi-Wan looked past Anakin, focusing on Padmé. He felt… blank in the Force. Whatever he was feeling, he was pushing down aggressively. It felt like he’d placed a mirror in front of his emotions, so nothing reflected outwards. Padmé said, lifting her chin, deciding on defiance in the moment, “It’s true.”

Obi-Wan laughed, sharp and abrupt, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “And you thought the best time to tell me this would be  _ right now _ ?”

“Well,” Anakin started and shrugged. “We might not get another chance.”

Obi-Wan stared at them both for a moment, still blank and calm, his emotions only coming through in the sharp tone of his voice when he said, “Oh, well, then. I suppose this explains, at least, some of your recent bizarre behavior. Is there anything else you’ve been waiting to tell me?”

Anakin glanced over at Padmé, ignoring the jab about bizarre behavior. She arched an eyebrow at him and shrugged.  _ She  _ felt irritated. Well, it had been her plan Anakin was currently running roughshod over. He expected he had some apologies to make later. If they survived.

“There  _ is _ ?” Obi-Wan asked, sounding aghast, apparently not even needing an answer. He scrubbed a hand over his face “Force, what else could--”

“We’re in love with you,” Anakin interrupted, because the sounds of blasters outside were growing more concerning. Their position was going to be overrun shortly. It seemed like the ideal moment to tell him, if only because they might not get another.

Obi-Wan blinked, mouth open, freezing completely. 

Padmé took a step forward, so she stood beside Anakin’s shoulder, and added, “Both of us.”

Obi-Wan looked back and forth between them, and managed, after a moment, weakly, “I don’t understand.”

Padmé glanced up at Anakin and touched his arm. She tilted her head, meaningfully, towards Obi-Wan, raising one eyebrow. And Anakin figured: what the kriffing hell. They’d come this far. “We love you,” he repeated, taking a step forward, putting a hand on Obi-Wan’s cheek, leaning down, and kissing him, only briefly.

Obi-Wan didn’t move, didn’t even shift, eyes wide open. Anakin drew back carefully. He had the feeling that Obi-Wan might shatter if there were any sudden movements in his general vicinity. Padmé shifted forward, squeezing Anakin’s hand. And then she curled a hand against Obi-Wan’s neck and pushed up onto her toes, brushing a kiss against his mouth.

Anakin hadn’t known exactly what to expect, seeing her kiss Obi-Wan. He’d considered, if only briefly, that it might infuriate him. But it did nothing to dampen the heat in his veins. In fact, it poured more want into his gut.

He wanted Padmé. He wanted Obi-Wan. Seeing the two of them together only sharpened both those desires. He swallowed.

“ _ Both _ of us,” she repeated, shifting back, and Obi-Wan still hadn’t moved. He obviously needed time to process the situation. Time he wasn’t going to get, by the sounds of it. Anakin swore, turning back to their hastily constructed barricade.

“Here they come,” he said, adjusting his grip on his saber. Obi-Wan jerked into motion again, both of them moving to block Padmé, who pressed against the wall, blaster up as the door pulled open. They carved their way through, somehow. Anakin didn’t remember any part of the battle afterwards, stepping over droids, holding a hand out for Padmé, looking around the now-empty corridor and asking, “Now what?”

“This way,” Obi-Wan said, without looking over his shoulder, his shoulders still stiff as he moved off, towards the closest sounds of battle.

#

They carved their way through the ship, barely speaking. Obi-Wan radiated something that felt almost like white-noise through the Force, as though he hadn’t processed fully what they’d said. There was no time to talk about it. There were always more droids, always another group of footsteps approaching.

Anakin drew in a steadying breath as a crowd turned the corner. He felt Obi-Wan tense, the slightest movement to his shoulders, and knew where he’d move next, which targets he’d pick. Anakin adjusted his strategy accordingly to do as much harm as possible. There were only two-dozen droids, surrounding a few Neimoidians. He and Obi-Wan could take them--

“General Kenobi!” a voice cried, amongst the crowd. There was movement as a figure pushed their way forward, a Neimoidian, looking a little worse for the wear. “We have been looking for you!”

Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan to find him glancing back, all revelations temporarily set to the back burner and put on hold. “Well, you’ve found me,” Obi-Wan said, flashing the Neimoidian a smile, “what can I do for you?”

The Neimoidian hesitated for a moment, and then drew himself straighter, jerking out a nod to the surrounding soldiers and droids. They moved, and Anakin tensed, but they were only… throwing their blasters to the ground, towards Obi-Wan’s feet.

“We offer you our surrender, High Jedi General Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan froze, but only for a moment, lowering his lightsaber as he asked, “Your surrender in the battle?”

The Neimoidian looked to the side and then raised his chin. “No, General. In the war. We concede defeat to the Grand Army of the Republic.” He stepped forward, his own blaster in hand and offered out, his expression grim and miserable. “And to you. We have contained Count Dooku. He no longer speaks for us.”

Obi-Wan took the blaster, somehow remaining calm though Anakin felt like yelling, like grabbing him and Padmé, and spinning them around in a circle, cheering. Obi-Wan looked at the blaster, looked at the Neimoidian, and said, impossibly controlled, “Then, on behalf of the Republic, I accept.”

#

It wasn’t as easy as that, of course. They had to take those remaining in the Separatist High Command back down to the Senate. Anakin had to sit at a meeting table and listen to Chancellor Organa as he spoke with the Separatist leadership, with Padmé, and with Obi-Wan.

The end of the war took forever and no time at all, all at once. After years of fighting, they ended it in perhaps five hours, in a cool room on Coruscant. 

And, afterwards, the Separatist leadership filed out, under watch by members of the 212st, with Obi-Wan standing straight-backed until they were out of the room. For a moment, Anakin held his breath. He was waiting, he realized, to wake up, or for someone to jump out and shout about how they’d all been fooled and this was really just a ploy…

But no one ducked around a corner with a blaster. He didn’t wake up in bed, cold and alone, wishing he weren’t. Padmé made a soft sound, a little laugh, and then brought a hand up to cover her mouth as both Anakin and Obi-Wan turned to look at her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, softly, “I’m just…”

“No,” Anakin said, and pulled her close, because Obi-Wan  _ knew _ and he didn’t have to hide it anymore. He kissed the mirth on her mouth, only briefly. “We should celebrate.”

Obi-Wan had shifted back a step, as they embraced. He said, looking to the side with a red tinge across his ears, “You should. I will see you later, and we can discuss--”

Padmé caught his hand, her fingers threading through his. She said, “We should all celebrate.”

Anakin reached out and took his other hand, and Obi-Wan stared between them as though they’d both gone mad. “At least come back and have a drink with us, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said. “We just ended the war. Surely, we can have one drink.”

Obi-Wan looked exhausted, hurt, beautiful, still. And Anakin wanted so much more than a drink with him, but a drink was a good place to start. Obi-Wan said, “I’m not sure that’s, really, the best idea.”

“I am,” Padmé said, and turned, tugging him along as though she fully expected her decision simply to be obeyed. And, perhaps because they were so exhausted, or punchy from the victory, or because she moved with such clarity of purpose, it was. They followed her out of the chamber, though she released their hands, to a ship, and all the way back to her apartments.

Anakin’s heart beat faster with each second in the air, a hundred wants swirling around through him, until he could barely stand it. His fingers flexed against the controls. He swallowed, shifting in his chair by the time he finally landed, looking over at Padmé to try to catch her eye and… finding her asleep.

She’d passed out, slumped in her chair, head resting on one shoulder. The sight of her stabbed into his chest sweetly, all the hot desires washing away. “She’s had a long day,” Obi-Wan said, quietly, rising from his chair. “You should… take her to bed. Let her rest. I’ll--”

“Come inside, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said, gently undoing Padmé’s harness and lifting her. She didn’t even make a sound, her head settling easily on his shoulder. “Let me tuck her in and then, maybe, you and I could, you know. Talk.”

Obi-Wan watched him, so tired and bedraggled, and nodded. “Alright,” he said, following Anakin into the apartments. Anakin left him standing by the couches, moving down the hall to the bedroom. It felt like an age and a half since he’d last slid beneath the silken sheets. He pulled the edge back and settled Padmé gently, brushing her hair away from her face.

She’d be irritated, in the morning, that she’d slept without cleaning up first. He smiled, softly, pulling the sheets back up over her and brushing a kiss across her cheek. And then he shrugged off his ruined outer tunic, left it on the floor, and went back out to face a conversation that was sure to be uncomfortable.

He found Obi-Wan on the couch, sitting with his arms folded and his chin bowed forward. Sleeping.

Anakin snorted, and, half-asleep himself, exhausted on his feet, he bent and slid an arm behind Obi-Wan’s shoulders, the other under his knees. Obi-Wan murmured something, faintly, when Anakin lifted him, a question slurred against Anakin’s shoulder.

“Sh,” Anakin told him, straightening, “go back to sleep, I’ve got you.”

It wasn’t the first time Anakin had carried him somewhere more appropriate to sleep, after all. Obi-Wan was ever working himself to exhaustion. Anakin had found him all kinds of places, and taken him back to his quarters. 

Some of those instances had been recorded. No wonder Padmé had realized how he felt.

He shook those thoughts aside, feeling Obi-Wan relax against him, sinking back into a deeper level of sleep. It seemed obvious, through the haze of exhaustion, to carry Obi-Wan down the hall, through the door to the bedroom.

Padmé had shifted while he was briefly gone, curling onto her side. Anakin lifted the blankets aside with the Force and bent, lowering Obi-Wan to the soft mattress. He made another little sound, half-stirring, and Anakin passed a gentling hand down his arm. “Sh, sleep.”

Anakin kicked off his boots. He was already most of the way on the bed. He intended to go tell 3PO that they weren’t to be disturbed. He intended to go shut all the blinds. He intended plenty of things, but all he did was fold onto the bed, barely remembering to pull the sheets up as his head hit the pillow and his eyes shut.

#

Anakin woke up slowly, full of aches and pains he’d barely registered the previous day. But he was warm and felt more content than he could ever recall feeling in his life. His head was quiet. His heart beat slow and steady. The Force felt  _ good _ , even and clear. 

He was warm, almost uncomfortably so. Probably, he realized, because he was curled all around a familiar form. He shifted a bit, finding that, in his sleep, he’d pressed all along Obi-Wan’s back. His arm was stretched over, around both Obi-Wan and Padmé, his hand resting on her ribs, shifting with each breath she took.

The overall effect brought sudden tears to his eyes, and he blinked them away, opening his eyes.

The room was full of soft light, the glow of the evening sun on Coruscant. He had no idea how long they’d slept. He had no clear idea what time of day it had been when they’d finally passed out. It didn’t really matter. He snuggled a little closer, nose brushing the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, and felt Obi-Wan suck in a little breath.

Anakin froze. “You’re awake,” he said, quietly.

“Oh, yes,” Obi-Wan said, sounding a bit amused. “Simply unsure how to disentangle myself from this knot.”

Anakin snorted and tightened his grip, just a bit. He didn’t really see why Obi-Wan had to go anywhere. His movement, or perhaps their voices, made Padmé stir. She made a questioning sound, and brought a hand up, threading her fingers with Anakin’s on her ribs. “Good morning,” she said, voice sleep soft.

“Good evening, I think,” Obi-Wan said, and Padmé shifted, rolling to face them both. She made no attempt to move away to do it, and Anakin felt Obi-Wan startle as she settled again close to him. Obi-Wan shifted back, as though in an attempt to give her space, but there was nowhere for him to go, he only pressed against Anakin, a delicious brush that Anakin couldn’t help but respond to.

“Good evening, then,” Padmé said, sliding her arm over Obi-Wan, fingers tangling in Anakin’s tunic. “Feeling better, everyone?”

“Much better,” Anakin said, because he could, in all honesty, not recall feeling better. It was like a piece he hadn’t realized had been missing had been slid into place. “Obi-Wan?”

“Well, you two have managed to get me in your bed. I’m not sure what--” Obi-Wan stopped when Padmé shifted a leg beneath the blanket. His breath hitched, and Anakin could imagine the movement of her body. He slid his hand down, over her hip, fingers curling around the back of her thigh as she curled her leg over Obi-Wan’s. 

“Should we tell you what we plan to do now?” Padmé asked, hand sliding across Obi-Wan’s cheek, while Anakin’s breath grew faster. He shifted his hips a little, helplessly, and Obi-Wan shivered all over, holding himself so still between them.

“We should talk,” Obi-Wan said, in a tone Anakin had never heard from him before. Anakin bent his head, brushing a kiss across his shoulder, rocking against him again.

“We should celebrate,” Anakin countered, and relished in the little sound Obi-Wan made when Padmé kissed his mouth, swallowing whatever he planned to say next. He tugged at the collar of Obi-Wan’s tunic and found it moving freely, realized Padmé had her clever fingers between them, undoing clasps.

Anakin managed to free one shoulder, and Obi-Wan shook his head, sitting up and away from their hands and their touch. His hair was all rumpled and his tunic hung off one shoulder. His mouth was red. He looked well on the way to debauched, but not nearly close enough to it. He said, looking back and forth between them, “As tempting as… this is, we  _ need _ to talk.”

Anakin sighed, slumping back against the mattress. “We could talk after?” he offered.

Obi-Wan pulled his tunic up, shifted towards the edge of the bed, and said, “No.”

Anakin listened to him walk from the room, and sighed, turning to face Padmé. She looked as disappointed as he felt. “Almost,” she said, and he grinned at her, leaning forward to kiss her mouth, slow and languid, for a long moment, before she said, “come on. Let’s go get him back in here.”

#

Obi-Wan had decided to make use of the fresher while they were distracted. Anakin listened to the water run and imagined that, if the morning had gone differently, they might all be under the water together. That prompted images that made him freeze in his tracks, all that skin, getting clean only to get messy again…

By the time he shook the thoughts away, Padmé had requested breakfast at dinner time from 3PO and he’d bustled off. “Would you like some help with that?” she asked, stepping closer, curling one arm around his neck, the other sliding down, past his belt, touch knowing and proprietary.

Anakin swallowed, and would have taken her up on the offer, had not the fresher door opened. As it was, he rasped, “I’ll take you up on that later,” and turned. Obi-Wan looked better, all cleaned up, his hair still wet. He’d not put on his dirty clothes again, thank the Force, though that only meant that he’d…

Grabbed one of Anakin’s shirts left behind, and Anakin twitched to grab him close and take it off again. Obi-Wan eyed him, and so Anakin kept his hands to himself, and moved onwards, into the fresher.

He decided to take care of his current source of distraction while scrubbing clean. Maybe he’d be able to string two coherent thoughts together if he weren’t so distracted by how much he wanted Padmé and Obi-Wan.

He did feel less ready to go mad by the time he exited the fresher, though the feeling returned near immediately when Padmé brushed a kiss to his mouth on the way past. Obi-Wan was sitting on one of the chairs in the living area, bent over a holocom, talking to Ahsoka. “Here’s your Master, now,” he said, as Anakin stepped out, “I’m sure he can tell you the whole story much better than I could.”

And Anakin was happy to take the com from him, to sit and talk to Ahsoka, listening to her gripe that she hadn’t been there, though there was a part of him that was so relieved. The last fight had been terrible and desperate. He was almost glad she’d been off on a trip with Master Plo Koon, safe and protected.

She smiled softly at him, when he finished explaining all that had happened, and said, “I’m proud of you, Skyguy,” and he was smiling about it, still, when Padmé finally stepped from the fresher, wrapped in a robe and with her hair loose all around her shoulders.

“Well,” she said, raising her chin and managing to look dignified in her bare feet, “shall we eat and talk, then?”

#

Anakin somehow believed, briefly, that maybe they’d exchange a few words and then - after Obi-Wan realized what a desperately good idea they’d had - they’d all go back to bed, eventually to sleep.

It didn’t work out that way. Instead, they ate, too hungry to push food around on their plates, and then Obi-Wan sighed, lifted a cup of tea, and said, “So, you’re married.”

“We are,” Anakin said, unable to read the expression on Obi-Wan’s face or his emotions through the Force. He’d recovered enough to conceal his feelings. “I know that--”

“You kept it from me for years,” Obi-Wan said, still not sounding anything but calm. Anakin glanced over at Padmé, who grimaced a bit.

“We did,” she said, leaning forward. “But at the time, we believed - well, we had to, and--”

“But you didn’t have to,” Obi-Wan said, and there was hurt in his voice, finally. He looked to the side and set down his cup. “You chose to.”

Anakin flinched. At the time, it hadn’t felt like they had another choice. He’d pushed the knowledge that  _ someday  _ Obi-Wan was going to find out from his mind so many times. He’d always assumed that, when that day came, he’d miraculously know how to explain, or that Obi-Wan would understand, or…

“You would have told the Council,” he said, instead of anything else. “They would have asked me to leave the Order, or--”

“You  _ should  _ leave the Order,” Obi-Wan snapped, sounding angry for perhaps the first time in the conversation. “You’ve gotten married, Anakin! And hidden it from your - your friends, for years, and I suppose told me now only because you’d like to take me to bed, too?”

“That’s not…” Padmé started, and then stopped, looking a bit abashed. “Things got a bit… out of our control. We didn’t intend to hurt anyone.”

Anakin almost protested that they  _ hadn’t  _ hurt anyone, but before he could, Obi-Wan said, “Well, you have, nevertheless,” and it was an admission of pain as much as anything else. It stole the words off of Anakin’s tongue and left him with a cool pit in his stomach.

“I should go,” Obi-Wan said, standing, frowning down at the too-big shirt he wore. “I need to speak with the Council.”

Anakin jerked his head up, “Obi-Wan--”

“Not about your marriage,” Obi-Wan said, not looking in his direction. “You may handle that situation yourself, but you  _ know  _ you cannot continue on like this. Attachment--”

Anakin frowned, “Love isn’t necessarily an attachment, Obi-Wan, you’ve kriffed half--”

Padmé shoved him in the shoulder, and he shut his mouth. Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow at him, and continued, drily, “I have always maintained the ability to make decisions not based solely on my emotions, to put duty in front of my feelings, Anakin. No matter how many people I ‘kriffed,’ thank you.”

And thinking about Obi-Wan in that context wasn’t… actually helping Anakin stay focused on the conversation. He shifted a bit and said, “I can maintain detachment.”

Obi-Wan sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, speaking quietly. “I’m sure you could, if you decided to, Anakin. I’ve never known you to fail at anything you wanted to do. I’m just not sure you  _ want  _ to. And you certainly don’t  _ need  _ to. Being a Jedi, choosing this path, it isn’t for everyone, and there’s nothing wrong with finding a different way.”

“But it is the path you want,” Padmé said, softly. She’d taken Anakin’s hand, as Obi-Wan spoke, and squeezed. “Isn’t it?”

Obi-Wan flashed a small smile, tired, and nodded. “It is.” He sighed and took a step back. “And it calls me away from here.”

Anakin stood, felt pulled to his feet as Obi-Wan turned. He blurted, “Obi-Wan, please, don’t be angry with us.”

Obi-Wan hesitated, but did not turn back. HIs shoulders slumped, just a little, before he caught himself. “I’m not angry at either of you,” he said, talking to the floor. “I’m hurt, Anakin. Think about what I’ve said, please.”

#

Anakin decided that he and Padmé spoke more over the following days than they throughout the rest of their marriage put together. Perhaps it made sense. It was the first time he wasn’t in danger of imminent deployment. 

They spoke about what he wanted, what she wanted, why they wanted those things. They discussed her future in the Senate and the fall-out from the war and the potential of having a family, of being able to walk out in public, holding hands. 

They talked until his throat hurt and his mouth went dry and then they talked some more. She suggested, at one point, staring at him with concern, that he speak with a mind healer. It was something Obi-Wan had suggested, multiple times, but the Chancellor had always seemed disapproving of the idea and…

And Anakin wasn’t sure why that had mattered, but it had at the time. He sighed, and agreed, and spent  _ more  _ hours talking. Eventually, they managed to come to some decisions. And once they had, Anakin went to find Obi-Wan. It wasn’t hard to locate him. He’d been spending much of his time either in the Temple or aboard the  _ Negotiator  _ as she was repaired.

Anakin tracked him into orbit more than a week after their last meeting, through the dimly lit halls that he’d come to know so well. He found Obi-Wan on the bridge, frowning over plans spread across the main command console, and for just a moment they might as well have been back in the war, preparing for another battle.

Anakin took a breath and stepped forward. He wished Padmé had been able to come with him, but her schedule was full to bursting. And maybe this was something he needed to handle himself, anyway.

“You were right,” Anakin said. It felt odd to be standing on the  _ Negotiator  _ again, while it was so empty. The world was changing with the end of the war, reshaping itself into something brand new. Anakin didn’t know what to expect from all the changes. He barely remembered a time before the war, some days.

Obi-Wan looked up at him, distraction written all over his expression, and said, “Oh, about what?”

Anakin swallowed, straightened his shoulders, and said, “Leaving the Order.”

It had the effect he’d anticipated. Obi-Wan stiffened, skin tightening around his eyes as his fingers tightened on the pad. “I see,” he said. “Have you informed the Council?”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin reached out, putting a hand on his shoulder, because Obi-Wan had locked down all his emotions so tightly. He was looking to the side, expression set and still as stone. “We haven’t told anyone but you. Not yet.”

“Well,” Obi-Wan took a little breath, raised his chin, though his gaze did not quite meet Anakin’s. “I can accompany you, if you don’t wish to tell them on your--”

“And I’m sorry,” Anakin blurted, into the space between them. He felt Obi-Wan shift under his hand. “That we didn’t tell you before, that we tried to keep it all a secret, I never meant to hurt you.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, softly, and then sighed. “It’s… you’re not keeping any  _ more  _ secrets, are you?”

Anakin barked a laugh, shaking his head. “No.” He reached out, cautiously touching Obi-Wan’s hand. “You know them all, now.” He swallowed, shifting a little closer. “I--We love you.”

Obi-Wan’s breath hitched. He was staring at Anakin’s hand on his. He said, “You’re both under a lot of stress. I’m sure that whatever attraction you felt will pass. The stress of the war, our close contact, it only… confused the issue.”

“Force, Obi-Wan.” Anakin wanted to shake him, but could acknowledge that probably wouldn’t help matters. He  _ really  _ wished Padmé had accompanied him. He hadn’t expected some type of logical argument about the depth of his  _ feelings _ . He leaned down, fitting his hand against Obi-Wan’s jaw, and kissing him to derail whatever new argument he had prepared.

Obi-Wan stiffened, and Anakin drew back, shaking his head. “We’re not confused. We’re both very sure how we feel about you. Just… tell me you don’t feel the same way, and I’ll never mention it again. But I think you do.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, unblinking, speaking only slowly. “You know I care for you very deeply,” he said. “And Padmé, as well.”

“Well, then--”

“But, Anakin,” Obi-Wan shrugged out of his touch, taking a step back. “I…”

“You’re still hurt,” Anakin said, stretching out his senses, picking up the edges of the wounds they’d left behind without intention. He grimaced, looking to the side. “Then--then let’s go to the Council. If you’ll still come with me.” He almost asked Obi-Wan to leave, to run off with them, but the question died before it could form completely.

To leave, with so many duties left undone, with so many people still to help, would have made Obi-Wan someone other than the man he loved, in any case.

Obi-Wan swallowed and looked up. “Of course I’ll come with you,” he said, and was as good as his word, accompanying Anakin down to Coruscant, into the Temple and the Council chambers. Obi-Wan stood there, calm as the Living Force, through all the confusion and disbelief, the eventual acceptance.

And when it was over, Anakin stepped out beneath the wide open sky and breathed in deeply, feeling strangely unburdened, as though some weight he’d never realized he carried had been lifted off of him. 

“Feel better?” Obi-Wan asked, standing beside him, staring forward. Anakin glanced down at him, the sunlight catching on his hair, the wind snagging his cloak. And it was on his tongue to deny it, to rage; he’d been so convinced he should be a Jedi for so long, perhaps up until the last few days, when all his reasons for wanting it had come apart through discussions with Padmé.

“I do,” he said, and laughed, a little.

“Good,” Obi-Wan said, and looked up at him to smile. “Give Padmé my regards, won’t you?” He turned to go, and Anakin reached out, touching his arm.

“Our minds aren’t going to change, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said, because he’d loved Obi-Wan in one way or another for most of his life. His feelings ran true and deep. He’d keep on loving Obi-Wan for the rest of his life, and felt the same from Padmé.

Obi-Wan said nothing, and Anakin sighed, stepping a little closer. Anakin smiled at him, brief and sad, and said, “And we’ll be waiting, when you’re ready to believe that.”

#

Padmé was waiting for Anakin when he finished all his tasks, when he returned from the Temple, no longer a Jedi. She wrapped him in a hug, her arms around his neck, her hair soft against his cheek.

“How did it go?” she asked, quiet, stroking his shoulders, as though gentling him. He thought maybe he needed gentled.

“Well,” he said, shivering, feeling shocky though he’d taken no injury, and the story poured out of him, all of it, into the security of her embrace.

She drew him down and kissed his cheek, his mouth, when he finished. She smiled at him, her eyes shining, his beautiful wife, and she said, “We’ll figure this all out.” He nodded, and swept her off of her feet.

They had, finally, plenty of time, just for them..

#

Anakin’s life reshaped itself alongside the galaxy. He set aside everything he’d known, for the second time in his life. He moved into Padmé ’s apartments - their apartments, now. He got to wake up beside her, every morning, to hold her hand in public, to kiss her without fear that someone might see.

For the first time in their marriage, it did not feel like an act of theft to spend the night in her bed, as though he were stealing something each time.

He felt… lighter. As though some weight had been taken away from him. Some pressure down the middle of him eased. He’d been pulled in two for so long that he’d forgotten what it felt like to not have equal and opposing forces ripping him apart.

Not all of it was easy. Ahsoka cut off contact with him, for a time. He felt her hurt and a sense of betrayal, saw it on her face, the few times they came into contact with one another. Anakin tried to explain, to mend the damage. He’d given her R2, even, as a way to… he didn’t know. Leave a part of himself behind. But perhaps only time could soothe some hurts.

She and Obi-Wan looked good, walking beside one another, anyway. She’d be fine, Anakin knew. Obi-Wan was, after all, the best Master she could have found.

Obi-Wan gave them space, as well, or they gave him space. He sent messages, they talked, but there was always a distance, there. An ocean of caution, as he asked Padmé about her health, or Anakin about what he was getting up to with his sudden free time.

“I wish….” Padmé said, in their bed, on a night after they’d received a brief message, one where Ahsoka had spoken to Anakin and smiled. They rarely spoke, anymore, of the empty space beside them, the one that ached to be filled. Anakin curled his arms around her, kissing the perfect skin of her shoulder.

“I know,” he said, shifting to kiss lower, briefly thinking of other hands on her skin, wanting. “Me, too.”

#

Anakin filled his days working with the committee set up by the Senate to assist the clones. He ended up working closely with Rex, as a matter of fact, who - it appeared - did most of the actual  _ running  _ of the committee.

The work was satisfying and necessary. Frustrating, sometimes. The troopers weren’t always treated well; no one knew exactly what to do with them, in the aftermath of the war. And there was the issue of their aging.

It didn’t sit right, with Anakin, the thought that they’d fought so hard and sacrificed so much, only to have their lives cut short. They set up research grants, worked aggressively to find answers that might not exist, and each day Anakin returned home at the end of the long hours to Padmé and felt---

Almost complete.

#

There were more peace summits and treaty discussions than Anakin could count, in the days and months that followed the official ending of the war. Many of them took place on Coruscant, but not all of them. Eventually, Padmé got assigned to a delegation deep into space previously held by the Separatists.

Something giddy unfolded in Anakin’s chest when he realized, after a moment, that he didn’t have to ask for permission to accompany her. He could just go along. Protect her. He exhaled, shrugging when she asked about his unexpected good cheer; she hadn’t thought he’d ever want to go to territory once held by the Separatists again.

But it was different, going as Senator Amidala’s husband, instead of as General Skywalker or even Padawan Skywalker. 

Somethings, though, didn’t change, as it turned out when they boarded their transport to meet the rest of the delegation and the Jedi who were to accompany them. Anakin recognized Obi-Wan and Ahsoka when they reached the landing platform, long before he caught sight of him, and his breath caught.

They hadn’t worked directly together since… everything. He tugged on his shirt, and Padmé shot him a curious look, turning away from her conversation with Senator Chuchi. He leaned down to whisper against her ear, “Obi-Wan and Ahsoka are coming along,” and watched her eyes widen, just a little.

By the time the pair walked up the ramp, Anakin felt that his face was in order. Obi-Wan and Ahsoka looked healthy. Good. Content. Anakin stared at them for a moment, and felt a pang of regret; there’d been a time he’d fitted beside them.

But it had never been a perfect fit. He’d always chafed at the tenants of the Order. He’d been a good soldier. A good general. A good warrior. But never a very good  _ Jedi _ , despite Obi-Wan’s beliefs. Realizing that he didn’t  _ have  _ to be a good Jedi - or any kind of Jedi at all - just because it was what Qui-Gon had wanted him to be, so long ago, had been freeing.

Obi-Wan and Ahsoka were getting closer, greeting the other Senators in the delegation, and Anakin considered the sweep of her montrals - getting sharper with each day - and the leaner lines of her face, wondering if she was still angry at him, and then she was there, inclining her head slightly, greeting first Padmé and then him.

Anakin ached, inside his chest, matching her tone, and something in her expression shifted. She smiled, just a little, and her eyes softened. She said, “It’s good to see you again… Anakin.”

He said, “You, too,” almost choking on the words, and she leaned forward, embracing him, her arms strong and sure. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, quietly, there in the ship, surrounded by what increasingly seemed to be half the Senate, and she shook her head.

“I understand,” she said, as she pulled back, which wasn’t quite the same as ‘I forgive you,’ but was better than he’d thought she could give him. Leaving the Order had been something he needed to do, but he knew it hadn’t been without cost to others.

Ahsoka most specifically.

There’d been a part of him that had hoped she might follow him, leave the Order behind. But she  _ was  _ a Jedi, it was part of the composite make-up of her being, just as it was with Obi-Wan. Either of them could have been removed from the Order, he was sure. But he wasn’t sure they’d be  _ them _ , anymore.

And he loved them both, so deeply. 

And then Obi-Wan was there, voice smooth and even, and he looked - well-rested, for the first time in an age and a half. There weren’t the fading remnants of bruises on his jaw. None of his fingernails were stained black. His robes didn’t smell of blaster char or blood. And it was, perhaps, in that moment, that Anakin really knew the war was  _ over _ .

“I’m so glad to get the chance to work with you again, Master Kenobi,” Padmé said, a smile in her voice, and Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow at her.

“I hope the mission will be productive,” he said, and Anakin did not move to embrace him, though he wanted to, wanted to curl an arm around Obi-Wan and tip his face back, kiss his mouth.

He said only, “Hey, there, Obi-Wan. Maybe we can talk later? All of us?”

Obi-Wan blinked at him and nodded, briefly, before moving on to the next members of their delegation.

#

Padmé went a step beyond Anakin’s vague plans to spend some more time with Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, and issued an invitation to a private dinner. She’d always been proactive, his wife. He appreciated it, especially when Obi-Wan and Ahsoka showed up at the door to their quarters, so alike and so different.

“We have so much to catch up on,” Padmé said, smiling and drawing them in, over to the meal laid out by 3PO. And the talking over the meal, mostly about inconsequential things, helped. Anakin watched Ahsoka’s shoulders relax, watched her smile come easier.

He caught Obi-Wan’s eye, the first time Ahsoka laughed, and felt it in his gut, a sense of rightness and familiarity, before Obi-Wan glanced to the side. Padmé brushed a kiss to Obi-Wan’s cheek when the evening ended, and Anakin, feeling bold and at peace, bent and did the same, lips brushing soft skin and the edges of his beard.

“I’ve missed them,” he said to Padmé, later, their limbs entangled, the sheets all a mess and half on the floor. She ran her fingers down his back and up again, over and over, her touch feather soft.

“I know,” she said, turning her head to press a kiss to the side of his head, and he closed his eyes.

#

There was room in the ship for Obi-Wan and Ahsoka to spar. Anakin wandered down to watch them, while Padmé was in a meeting with the other Senators. He wasn’t alone, a few members of the crew and attaches were there, as well, watching the Jedi flow through an impossible display of skill.

They were both wielding two sabers, the room a blaze of blurring lights as they moved around one another, Obi-Wan sometimes calling brief instructions. It was always strange, seeing Obi-Wan take a more aggressive posture in a fight. Logically, Anakin knew he handled more aggressive forms very well, but…

He’d almost always fallen into defensive postures when training Anakin. There was probably something there Anakin needed to dig into and consider, but it could wait. The crew applauded when the fighting pair finally came to a stop, Obi-Wan offering out a hand on Ahsoka to pull her back to her feet.

Ahsoka offered them all a jaunty wave, and grabbed a bottle of water, wandering over to grab a rag. “Very impressive,” Anakin said, leaning against the wall. 

She flashed him a smile - it came easier than her smiles had for so long - and said, “Do you still practice?”

Anakin shrugged. “Here and there,” he said, which was true enough. There were more demands on his time than he liked to admit. But he went through katas as much as he could; there was a part of him that didn’t want to let the knowledge go.

“Good,” Obi-Wan said, approaching from the other side, “ _ you  _ can chase her around for a bit, then.” He handed over a practice saber, still warm from his skin, and Anakin flushed, but took it, arching an eyebrow at Ahsoka. He thought that she took perhaps a bit more pleasure than necessary from landing a few hits on him, but maybe she needed it, too.

He rubbed at his ribs, after, when she bumped his shoulder and smiled at him. “I’m going to get cleaned up,” she said, and Obi-Wan nodded, watching her go and bending to gather up their things.

Anakin watched him; he looked welcoming in his sparring gear, his hair falling forward, only the barest hint of tension in his shoulders. Anakin said, without thinking about it, “You want to have a go?”

Obi-Wan paused, glancing up at him. Most of the crowd had dissipated, apparently deciding that the show was over. Anakin leaned a shoulder against the wall, sweating down his spine - he wasn’t dressed for sparring - and flashed a smile. “For old time’s sake?”

Obi-Wan watched him a moment longer, and then nodded. “For old time’s sake,” he repeated, leaving the gear and straightening. Anakin hadn’t dared to hope he’d actually agree, and pushed down his wash of surprise and pleasure, stepping back and falling into a posture built into his muscle memory.

He took the first step forward. He ever had, and then there was nothing but the impact of lightsabers and the way he knew exactly where Obi-Wan’s body would be, each time he moved. That knowledge hadn’t faded, not yet. Maybe it never would.

They fell into the rhythm of it, perfect and flowing, something beyond thought, but nothing perfect lasted forever, and Obi-Wan managed to trip him. He grabbed Obi-Wan on his way down, and the two of them ended sprawled across the ground, Obi-Wan poised over him, one hand by Anakin’s shoulder, saber still held in the other.

Anakin panted, feeling the smile on his mouth, hand still gripping Obi-Wan’s arm. “I’ve missed you,” he said, because he could and because he meant it, and because he liked the way it made Obi-Wan’s eyes widen.

Obi-Wan shifted, and Anakin used the opportunity to push with a foot braced on the ground, rolling them, Obi-Wan making a short, indignant noise. Obi-Wan blinked up at him, Anakin terribly aware of the way their legs tangled together, of the blue of Obi-Wan’s eyes when he said, low and thick, “Anakin--”

“I just thought you should know,” Anakin said, shifting closer, “that we still want you.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan said, and felt  _ surprised _ through the Force, as though he really had just expected that to no longer be true. He made a little sound, almost dismissive. “I’m sure that’s--”

Anakin rolled his eyes and shifted his hips, just a little, enough to ruin whatever argument Obi-Wan might have had brewing about how surely that couldn’t be true. Obi-Wan went quiet, blinking rapidly. Anakin dropped a quick kiss on his cheek and shifted back, rocking to his feet and offering Obi-Wan a hand.

Obi-Wan took his hand, after only a moment, and Anakin pulled him up, maybe a little closer than he should have. “Just think about it,” he said, stroking his thumb across Obi-Wan’s hand, and made himself turn and walk away, before he gave in to the urge to give Obi-Wan the kind of kiss he wasn’t sure would be welcome, yet.

#

Anakin spent most of the trip with Ahsoka and Obi-Wan, when Padmé was in her meetings. Quite frequently, Obi-Wan was in those meetings with her, and Anakin got the chance to rebuild the foundation of his relationship with Ahsoka.

And something warmed in his chest, each time Padmé walked out of a meeting still talking to Obi-Wan. He could almost track the way Obi-Wan gradually relaxed, something warmer in his bearing each day, the last vestiges of hurt slowly draining away from him.

The day before they were to arrive, Obi-Wan had a hand on her back when they exited the meeting room, smiling down at her as she beamed up at him. They were walking close together, and Anakin felt a swell of joy and peace, looking at them together.

Obi-Wan glanced over towards him, always aware of Anakin, the same way Anakin couldn’t help but being aware of him. Anakin leaned a shoulder against the wall and grinned at them both, and something shifted, then and there, as other Senators flowed past. 

Obi-Wan swallowed, looked back at Padmé, her grin and dark eyes, and Anakin’s stomach went hot and tight, even as the moment broke with the pilot’s announcement that they had reached their destination.

#

Meetings and negotiations filled all the long hours of the day. They passed in a buzz of boredom for Anakin, mostly. He understood that the process was important and necessary. He just wished he were somewhere else while it happened. 

Still, Padmé and Obi-Wan seemed to be… if not enjoying themselves, then engaged in the proceedings. Anakin and Ahsoka were left to slowly perish of nothing happening on their own. But the hours of the day passed, eventually, the sun sinking, yielding to the three moons rising over the horizon.

They were expected to go to some kind of fancy dinner. Anakin had grown accustomed to such affairs. As Padmé’s husband, he was expected to attend so many fine meals and dances and galas. He’d learned how to dress appropriately and how to dance and which utensil went with which dish.

He helped Padmé put up her hair and with the fastenings down the back of her dress, kissing her mouth gently before her attendants swept in to adjust her makeup. He offered her his arm when they finished. She looked like something out of the sweetest dream, fitting her hand around his arm and beaming up at him.

It was still a thrill no longer be hiding, one that he felt with each beat of his heart, all the way to the fine ballroom set up for their meal.

Ahsoka and Obi-Wan were there, by the time they arrived, wearing their Jedi robes and looking serene, out of place in an engaging way. They should have looked drab in comparison to the fine fabrics and bright colors of all of the diplomats, but Anakin wasn’t sure either of them could ever look anything but striking.

They ate, light foods that barely left Anakin feeling full. They drank, sweet, fruity wines that almost evaporated off of his tongue. They danced, Padmé beautiful in his arms, nudging him when he missed a step, here and there, her smile warm and pleased.

She swept from his arms, when the music changed, with a wink, and he grinned when she stepped up to Obi-Wan, a hand on his arm and a question in the tilt of her head. Obi-Wan set down the fluted glass he held and took her hand, the two of them spinning out onto the dance floor.

Obi-Wan did not require adjustments to make sure he didn’t step on Padmé’s toes. He rested a hand on her back, on skin, due to the cut of her dress. She held his other hand, and they were a striking picture, speaking with one another - words Anakin couldn’t hear that made Padmé’s eyes crinkle with a smile - as they swept around.

“You’d better let me lead,” Obi-Wan said, when the song ended and Padmé guided him over, nudging him towards Anakin. Anakin snorted, but raised no arguments about it. It gave him an excuse to drape an arm across Obi-Wan’s shoulders, anyway, to feel Obi-Wan’s hand on his back, firm and sure.

Obi-Wan gathered Ahsoka, next, and Anakin offered Padmé a glass of wine that she drank most inelegantly before pulling him back onto the dance floor.

#

Ahsoka received a comm from Barriss and disappeared, somewhere near the end of the night. Anakin raised an eyebrow in Obi-Wan’s direction, and he only shrugged. “They’ve grown close,” he said, and Anakin nodded.

“I think she’s had the right idea, anyway,” Padmé said, with a little smile. “It’s late.”

Anakin offered her an arm once more, and said, “Well, let’s go, then.” He shifted his gaze to Obi-Wan. “Care to join us?”

Obi-Wan looked between them, for a moment, Anakin waited for him to decline, politely. Or to explain that he was still too hurt by the lies and deceptions. Or… But Obi-Wan reached for a half-full glass on their table, drained it in a single swallow, and said, “Alright.”

Anakin’s pulse leapt. He felt a rush of emotion from Padmé, though nothing showed on her face beyond a smile as she held out her other hand, expectantly. Obi-Wan took it, after a moment, letting her slide her fingers around his elbow as they swept from the ballroom.

Anakin thought they probably ought to say  _ something  _ as they walked through the halls, but his mind was all white-noise. He kept waiting to wake up from the dream that he must have fallen into. But then the door to their quarters was opening, and they were stepping inside, and Obi-Wan was  _ still there _ .

Obi-Wan hesitated, as the door closed. Anakin turned to glance at him, wondering if this was where everything reset, and Obi-Wan said, carefully, softly, “I cannot offer you… what you offer each other.”

“We know, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said, smiling at him gently, turning to gently take out the pins holding in Padmé’s headdress. “We understand.”

Obi-Wan stayed still by the door. “You may say that now, but--”

“Obi-Wan,” Padmé said, lifting away the headdress and shaking out her hair. “We love you.  _ You _ . All of you. We know you’re not going to run off and marry us. We know what we’re offering. It’s up to you to decide if you want to accept it, or not.”

Obi-Wan swallowed, thickly. Anakin held his breath. He knew, well enough, that some of Obi-Wan’s other lovers  _ had  _ grown attached to him, bitter and angry when he could not - or would not - return the tangling emotions. And neither he nor Padmé had a great history with ignoring attachment, but….

But they were permitted. 

“Alright,” Obi-Wan said, quietly, and Anakin breathed again, heart racing suddenly in his chest.

“Alright,” Padmé repeated, squeezing Anakin’s hand, holding on as she stepped forward. Obi-Wan watched them approach, expression cautious, as though he were not sure entirely what they planned. He exhaled, shakily, when Padmé put a hand on his chest, sliding her palm up, over his shoulder, as she pushed onto his toes to kiss his mouth.

Anakin leaned closer, Padmé’s hand in his, wrapping his other arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders, nuzzling against the soft fall of his hair. When Padmé shifted back, taking a breath, Anakin touched Obi-Wan’s jaw, tilting his face, kissing his soft mouth.

“Force,” Obi-Wan breathed out, when Anakin drew back, his hungers all whetted and brought into stark relief. Padmé curled her fingers into Obi-Wan’s robes and tugged, taking a step backwards, and another, before turning to lead them both down the little hall to the bed chamber they’d been assigned.

“Help me with this,” she said, as they passed through the door and she drew to a stop. She lifted her hair out of the way, revealing the thin band of fabric around her neck, the emerald strap all that held up her dress. The buttons were tiny. Anakin would know, he’d closed them for her.

Obi-Wan glanced at Anakin, who grinned and nudged him forward. He enjoyed watching Obi-Wan’s clever fingers, undoing the row of tiny buttons with a degree of skill that implied he’d taken plenty of other people out of equally fine clothing.

Anakin stepped close behind him as he worked, curling an arm around his waist, bending to place kisses down the line of his throat. Obi-Wan made a little sound, soft, tilting his head to the side as he slipped free the last button. He trailed his fingers down the back of Padmé’s neck, fanning his hand open across her shoulders. Anakin heard her little intake of breath, watched goosebumps rise across her arms as her dress slid down.

She turned, all beautiful bare skin, stepping out of the dress as it puddled on the floor. Obi-Wan kept his hand on her, trailing across her shoulder, cupping her neck as she swayed closer, pressing against him, kissing his mouth.

“You’re both wearing far too much,” she said, when she shifted back, her hands sliding across Anakin’s arm on their way to Obi-Wan’s belt.

“A problem I had noted,” Obi-Wan murmured, softly, as she tossed the belt to the side. Anakin slid his hands up, finding the clasps on Obi-Wan’s tunics from memory - how many times had he thought about undressing Obi-Wan, just like this,  _ Force  _ \- pulling the fabric off his shoulders, and for a moment the sleeves tangled his arms.

Anakin tightened his grip when Obi-Wan made a little sound, head tilting back against Anakin’s shoulder and his mouth was  _ right there _ , perfect and waiting to be kissed as Padmé made quick work of the fastening on his pants. Obi-Wan’s arms were caught against Anakin’s chest, temporarily contained, muscles shifting as Padmé slid closer to them.

Anakin shivered when she brushed a kiss across his jaw, shifting, giving Obi-Wan a chance to breath so he could kiss her mouth over Obi-Wan’s shoulder. He released his grip on Obi-Wan’s tunic, wanting to put a hand on her body, run his palm down the smooth skin of her back.

Obi-Wan took the opportunity to shrug the tunics the rest of the way off, arms freed, though Anakin couldn’t help but thinking there was an idea there they might return to later. He was too distracted by so much bare skin, so many places he wanted to touch or kiss to consider it more at the moment.

And then Padmé was curling a hand around the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, tugging him forward as she said, breathlessly, “Your clothes, Anakin.”

He blinked, thoughts feeling slow and thick as he looked down. His shirt was mostly open and his pants open, but they were both still  _ on _ . A serious problem, he considered, looking up at soft sounds from the bed. Padmé had crawled up onto the mattress, Obi-Wan following, both of them tangling on the sheets and--

And Anakin had to reach down and grip himself, hard, because the two of them together were stunningly beautiful. All he’d ever wanted or desired in his life sprawled across the sheets, Padmé’s fingers in Obi-Wan’s hair, her head thrown back as he kissed her throat, her mouth open and panting.

Anakin could watch them forever and not get tired of it. His cock ached, watching Obi-Wan shift when Padmé tugged at his hair, his mouth sliding down over smooth, perfect skin. She gasped and squirmed - the beard must feel different against her skin - and her spine arched when he reached her breast, and she panted, “Yes.”

Obi-Wan made a thoughtful sound, half-smug, clever fingers cupping her other breast, and Anakin forgot all about what he was, possibly, supposed to be doing. He slid his hand past the loose waistband of his pants, instead, stroking over-heated flesh, dragging a sound out of his own throat.

And he might have continued on that path, might have made a mess still wearing his clothes, had Obi-Wan not shifted enough to flash him a look, eyebrow raised, mouth lifting from Padmé’s skin with a wet sound. He shifted, further down the bed, dropping a kiss to Padmé’s thigh that had her clenching her fingers in the blankets and panting, “Oh, Force, please.”

Obi-Wan flashed Anakin a grin, stroked his hand down the side of Padmé’s thigh, and asked, “Will you be joining us, then?” right before he ducked his head.

Anakin swallowed, hard, and managed to make his arms do something more useful, shoving at the clothes getting in his way. He couldn’t move fast enough, not with the wet, soft sounds coming from Obi-Wan’s ministrations, or the way Padmé was bowing up off of the sheets, a flush spreading down her throat and across her chest, her mouth gone soft and her eyes fluttering.

Anakin threw his shirt somewhere and found the will to climb onto the mattress, to curl close and kiss her mouth, his hand sliding down her body, thumb stroking over a nipple wetted already by Obi-Wan’s mouth and  _ Force _ \--

She anchored a hand in his hair, going still and then shaking, all at once, her breath coming in stuttering pants. “Force,” she slurred, after a moment, slumping a bit against the sheets as Anakin kissed her cheek, her jaw.

“Liked that, did you?” Obi-Wan asked, and Anakin turned to look at him, the wet shine of his little grin. Anakin really had no choice but to reach out and pull him closer, kiss Padmé’s taste off of his mouth. Obi-Wan slid a hand down his body, clever fingers -  _ wet  _ fingers - curling around Anakin’s aching cock, as he murmured, “Something you’d like to try, too?”

Anakin managed to jerk out a nod, and  _ Force _ , but feeling Obi-Wan grin against his mouth was… something else. He shivered as Obi-Wan kissed down his throat, chest, stomach,  _ Force _ , as Obi-Wan put a hand on his chest and pushed, but Anakin didn’t want to sprawl down, he wanted to be able to  _ see  _ when Obi-Wan’s mouth brushed the head of his cock--

He groaned, loud, fingers sliding through Obi-Wan’s hair as he slid his hot, wet mouth down and--

And Padmé rolled over to them, fitting herself against Obi-Wan’s side, mouth near his ear when she murmured, “This isn’t  _ just  _ about what we’d like, you know.” She curled her arm around him, and Obi-Wan lost his rhythm, for a moment, when she touched him.

Anakin could imagine just how she’d touch him, the way she’d move her fingers, teasing and not quite tight or fast enough. Not at first. He sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, reaching his other hand out for her, stroking her cheek. She tilted her head, lips brushing his thumb, and he swore, softly, when she drew it into her mouth, sucking a bit, and--

And he lost track, for a while, of everything happening, there was just pleasure and touch and Anakin barely managing to twist fingers in Obi-Wan’s hair and pull before it was too late. Obi-Wan made a sound at the jerking movement, something sharp and thick, something Anakin was going to consider  _ later _ , when he wasn’t busy staring at Obi-Wan’s red, red mouth and panting, “Enough of that, or I’ll come.”

“Is that not the goal?” Obi-Wan asked, breathing unsteadily himself. Padmé was still touching him, and she slid her other hand out, touching Anakin as well, her fingers moving easily over spit-slick skin and--

“Eventually,” Anakin panted, “it’s the goal  _ eventually _ , but I want…” Force, he wanted too much. More than could be satisfied in one night. “Come here,” he managed, though he didn’t mean it, what he meant was  _ let me tumble you back, let me kiss you just so, let me _ \--

Obi-Wan must have understood, because he went willingly when Anakin pushed at him, sprawling onto his back, so Anakin could lean over him, kissing his mouth, feeling the brush of Padmé’s knuckles against his side. 

They took their time over him, exchanging kisses of their own as they went, until Anakin ached so much with lust he could barely think, and Obi-Wan was panting, hands sliding over their skin or twisting into the blankets.

Anakin slid his mouth over Obi-Wan’s cock with Padmé’s hand still wrapped around the flesh, and he thrust up, or would have, if Anakin had not gripped his hips and pushed him back to the mattress. Anakin shivered, want hitting him harder each time his lips brushed Padmé ’s fingers, until she shifted. 

He wanted to call her back, but she was already pressing something against his hand, a slim little jar, and  _ oh _ . Oh, Anakin fumbled to open it, sliding his mouth off of Obi-Wan’s skin because he had to concentrate and that was proving… very difficult at the moment, moreso when he realized that Padmé had shifted over Obi-Wan, her hands curled around the headboard, his hands on her thigh, or her hip, as she lowered herself to put his mouth on her again and--

And Anakin might very well die of sheer lust, but he couldn’t think of a better way to go. He gulped at the air, slicked up his fingers, and bent back to his ministrations, pushing Obi-Wan’s thighs wider.

Obi-Wan gave so sweetly against his touch. He’d always given, Anakin had  _ known _ he would like this, too, had known it would be perfect, opening him up, listening to the wet sounds of his mouth, listening to Padmé’s voice get higher as she shifted, the muscles of her back shifting and moving as she chased raw pleasure, and--

And Anakin had three fingers slid into Obi-Wan when Padmé slumped to the side, legs loose, one arm thrown over her face. She looked a dream, sated and heavy-limbed, wet and red and Anakin wanted to push into her, but he also wanted--

He slid his mouth off of Obi-Wan, his fingers from Obi-Wan’s flesh, listening to Obi-Wan cry out, hoarsely, and panted, “Padmé, we should--”

“Yes,” she said, reading his thoughts the way only she and Obi-Wan could, as though both of them knew him better than he knew himself. She roused herself enough to grip at Obi-Wan’s arm and shoulder, tugging on him, panting, “Come here, come here.”

Obi-Wan rolled to her, mouth finding hers as she pulled him closer, thighs parting around his hips, and Anakin knew the moment he slid into her, knew it from the way Padmé’s head fell back and the way Obi-Wan groaned, the shift of muscle in his back and thighs.

“Force,” she panted, “Obi-Wan,” and her hands scrambled against his shoulders, fingers pressing against skin as his hips worked and oh, Anakin could watch them forever, just like that, but she was continuing, keeping him on track, his guiding star, “Anakin,  _ come here _ .”

And Anakin could only listen, shifting closer, bracing one hand on the outside of both of their shoulders. He didn’t think this would work with anyone else, as he slid closer, but he knew Obi-Wan’s body so well and Obi-Wan knew his and they had always been able to move  _ together _ , like one person.

He kissed the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, hand curling around Obi-Wan’s hip, stilling him for a moment and nudging closer. Obi-Wan made a sound, thick, and Padmé curled both her hands around his head, holding him close, kissing his mouth as Anakin pressed in and in and  _ in _ , feeling the way Obi-Wan’s muscles shook, the way he shifted, but there was no where for him to  _ go _ , not caught between them, Anakin had them  _ both _ , safe and in his bed and  _ his _ .

He shifted, slow and carefully, and somewhere, everything clicked into place, a perfect moment aligning throughout the entirety of the galaxy, or at least those parts Anakin was capable of caring about at the moment.

Padmé stretched an arm out, hand sliding across his arm as he shifted position, the three of them moving together and oh, it was slow and perfect and Anakin wondered if they could manage it all night, trading kisses, touching everywhere, drowning in one another, but he’d wanted so long and so ardently, and when Padmé cried out, sharply, it felt like an ending. Obi-Wan went still, all at once, panting, “Oh, oh,” as his body clenched so sweetly around Anakin’s, and Anakin could no more resist the flood of pleasure through his body than turn back time.

Release left Anakin slumped against Obi-Wan’s back, holding his weight up off of them both with one arm. He panted against the sweat slick skin of Obi-Wan’s shoulder, leaning into the touch when Padmé lifted a hand to his cheek. He ran a gentling hand down Obi-Wan’s side, and shifted when he felt capable of it, mourning the separation even as he knew it to be necessary.

Obi-Wan made a soft, aching sound, Padmé kissing him languidly as he shifted. She pushed on his shoulder, and he went with the pressure, rolling against Anakin’s chest. Padmé followed, staying close, the three of them tangling together, holding one another, and Anakin tightened his grip, wishing, vaguely, that morning might not come, but not dreading it as once he might have.

He felt complete and whole and could ask for no more than that.


End file.
